Similar

Similar

My friend is looking fierce as she lounges in the corner booth at the Griffin on this nondescript Friday night. Her boobs are screaming, “Hello, world!” and her heels are even more forward. “Forget long walks on the beach,” they seem to call from the ends of her crossed legs. “You know exactly what I want.”

She is drawing the attention she wants. A beautiful woman with an Afro saunters over from the jukebox to whisper to her, “You are the most beautiful woman in this bar.” My friend gushes over the compliment and chats about hair for a few minutes before the woman leaves for the jukebox.

I nudge my still-gushing friend, encouraging her to strike up further conversation with the woman, or, at the very least, make sure she isn’t selecting anything shitty. If my ego must endure being — at best — the second-most beautiful person in this bar, my ears shouldn’t have to suffer, too.

A cell-phone charger: I almost begin to question her logic aloud, but then the brilliance of it hits me. Impromptu sleepovers often lead to dead cell phones during your walk of shame, which is at best annoying — because you have to wait until you get home to brag to your friend about your latest conquest — and at worst dangerous — because you’re disconnected from the world, sometimes in an unfamiliar part of town.

Carrying your cell phone charger around with you is an obvious must for independent, sexually proactive women — one step beyond packing a travel toothbrush, two steps after carrying condoms. You can’t only sleep with people who have the same model phone as you, at least not if you don’t own the ubiquitous iPhone, anyway.